


Savior/Downfall

by Cowboy_Sneep_Dip



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Horror, Doomed Timelines, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, Sexual Content, Tragedy, Trans Female Character, Violence, god im really back on my bullshit huh, i promise ;-;
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-07 07:31:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19204762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cowboy_Sneep_Dip/pseuds/Cowboy_Sneep_Dip
Summary: Grima. The name is on the lips of every Ylissean, from the civilians in Ylisstol to the soldiers in the desert, to the whisperers in the alleys, speaking in hushed tones of the absent king and his clever wife. Their daughter, the heir to the throne, blood of Ylisse and Plegia, finds herself drawn inexplicably to violence, even as the war grows more desperate.Severa, burdened with her mother's pegasus and tasked with the care of her sister, tries desperately to survive a world gone increasingly to the wolves, and her heart aches with longing for the summer days spent in sunlight at the castle, fingers entwined with the princess.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy, y'all! As you can probably tell from the tags, this is going to be a pretty heavy fic with some pretty heavy concepts, so be sure to check for updated tags and warnings! This is, in part, an exercise in me not writing a billion pages at once and posting complete works, but instead trying to post shorter chapters more frequently! Hope that works.  
> Anyway, hope you enjoy! It's a pretty unassuming start.

Wind rattles the windowframe, battering the shutters against the house. The impact is loud and startling, making Severa jump. She blinks herself from half-slumber at her desk to wakefulness, staring at her open book in the dimness of her lamp. The oil is almost gone, the wick burned down to a small, flickering thing, barely there. She bites her lip.

She had let her pen smear black ink across the page and she winces as it, reaching for a cloth to wipe up the black bleeding from the worn parchment and trickling into the spine.

She sighs. The wind rattles the window again, and outside, the trees shift and rustle in the beginnings of a thunderstorm. Far off, somewhere on the horizon, there’s a rumble and a flash of light. Severa leans back in her chair and surveys her study. The ceilings are sloped, reaching a point above her from which dangles another lantern, flickering and casting shadows over bookshelves and blankets covering dusty furniture. Cobwebs streak across the corners, just out of reach for her shaky hands, and books and tomes are scattered across her desk. Other papers, too; periodicals, news publications, prints with holes eaten in them and burn marks and streaky ink.

There’s a sword resting in the wall above her desk, mounted on hooks, sheathed, meticulously cleaned. The sheath and hilt still gleam, reflecting the soft orange of the lamplight, untarnished by the passage of time.

Severa rips out the page she had started, crumples it into a ball, and presses her face into her hands. She can feel the scar tissue, raised and rough on her cheeks. It doesn’t hurt, hasn’t for years, and the marks are just beginning to fade from an angry red to a muted pink.

There’s a sound behind her, footsteps against stairs, a soft knock.

She turns in her chair and rubs her eyes. “You can come in, sweetie.”

The door creaks open, pushed by the pudgy fingers of a small child with dark, feathery hair. They rub a little balled up fist against their eyes and sniffle.

“Aw, it’s okay, sweetie,” Severa gets up and kneels. “Can’t sleep?”

A shake of the head.

“The storm?”

A nod.

“It’s okay,” Severa kisses the top of the child’s head. “Here, why don’t I finish up, and then we can get to bed.”

The child slips their hand into Severa’s and she gives a comforting squeeze while she uses her free hand to close her book and shut her inkwell. She gives it a glance before picking it up and slinging it under her arm. She smiles down at the child. Rain patters against the roof and speckles the window with streaks.

The stairwell from the attic is narrow, a spiral crammed into the back of the small cabin, and the steps creak as they walk. Severa picks the child up and cradles them against her, letting their head nestle into the crook of her neck. Thunder crackles, muffled and distant, and wind and rain lash the sides of the cabin as Severa carries the child back to bed, nesting them against the pillows and blankets before tugging off her jacket.

The bedroom is, as Severa insists, cozy; not cramped. Flannel blankets piled on the bed, a window set against the far wall, wood-paneled walls and a plush rug spread across the floor. A dresser is crammed into the corner, and a wardrobe beyond that, draws filled to bursting with clothing.

Severa sets her book on the nightstand and crawls into bed, wrapping her arms around the child and pressing her lips into their mop of dark hair, now shimmering violet in the dim lamplight. “Light on?”

They nod and writhe into Severa’s embrace, nestling a tiny head against her and whimpering.

“It’s just a storm,” Severa coos softly, stroking their hair. “It’s not scary.”

The walls creak inwards in the wind and rain, and crackles of lightning flash through the blinds, casting white light in streaks across the bed. When it does, the child flinches, and Severa tugs them closer together, whispering soft reassurances.

They fall asleep, eventually, hitched breaths and sniffles turned to a soft rise and fall of their chest. She curls her arms around them and holds tight, eyes shut, sleepless as rain lashes the windows.

 

-

 

Severa sits on the front porch and watches the sky roll with dark, distant clouds. It’s a soggy morning, the sun barely peeking through the clouds in shafts of light cast on a yard turned to a mire of mud and trees bent and bowed by the night’s storm. Her hands are wrapped around a warm mug of tea that she sips absentmindedly, staring off.

She doesn’t really notice when a horse and rider break through the treeline, trotting up the muddied path, draped in a dark and weathered cloak.

She looks up when the rider dismounts, splashing into the mud with heavy metal boots. She draws back her hood and smiles.

“Hey, Sev.”

“Hey, Kjelle,” Severa responds, her voice hoarse. She clears her throat. “Just finished up a pot of tea, if you want some.”

“Tea sounds great,” Kjelle’s cloak drapes wet and heavy over a mail shirt that jingles as she walks up the stairs and offers a gloved hand to Severa. She pulls Severa to her feet and wrings the edges of her cloak out on the porch.

“You can just hang it on the railing,” Severa says, pushing open the front door. “It’s not supposed to rain much more.”

Kjelle fluffs out the wet fringes of her hair and pulls her boots off to leave them dripping on the porch.

“How’s the kid?” she asks, shutting the front door behind her.

“Asleep,” Severa says from the stove. “They were up all night because of the storm.”

“Looks like you didn’t get much sleep either.”

Severa stares at the teapot, watching steam curl up in whisps. “Yeah.”

She’s startled when Kjelle touches her shoulder, stifling a gasp.

“Hey, you okay?”

“I…” Severa purses her lips. “I don’t know.” She thrusts a mug into Kjelle’s hands. “Here’s your tea.”

“Cheers,” Kjelle smiles, lifting it.

Severa moves through the living room slowly, exhausted, setting her mug of tea on the table and sitting on the couch. “Did you come from the south?”

Kjelle nods and sits at her side. “Yeah. We’re hoping to push the Grimleal back and sandwich them between us and Say’ri’s men.”

Severa lifts her eyebrow. “Oh?”

Kjelle nods and stares into her tea. “She’s taken the capitol, and Owain is pushing west from Southtown.”

Severa nods.

The two of them sit in silence, drinking their tea.

“You’re a long way from Southtown,” Severa says at last.

“Yeah, well…” Kjelle sits back and crosses one leg over her knee. “You know. Thought I’d check in on you two.”

Severa doesn’t know, but she suspects. She sets her empty tea on the table and closes her eyes. She wishes sleep would come to her more easily. She wishes she could be in Southtown, too, or Plegia, or wherever the fighting was these days. To be of use, to serve the only purpose she ever knew. She rubs her red-rimmed and weary eyes.

She never expected to be a mother.

Kjelle leans back and the couch creaks as she does.

Severa hadn’t expected to be a mother to anyone, let alone the Exalt. They’ve got a brand on the back of their neck, the mark of Naga; and a scar on their right shoulder blade where skin had been cut away. They had squirmed and cried and no amount of soft motherly cooing could stymie that pain. They had all thought it best to keep the Exalt in hiding until the war ended. Severa blinks.

“Kjelle,” she says softly.

“Mm? What’s up?”

“Do you miss her?”

Kjelle frowns. “Who?”

“Cynthia.”

Kjelle lets out a mirthless laugh and leans forward to rest on her knees. She’s smiling, but her face is empty and distant. “Yeah.” She breathes. “Yeah, I miss her every gods-damned day.” She inhales again, taking steady breaths, and she lets out another laugh. “Yeah, I miss her. But…” she purses her lips. “She wouldn’t want me to dwell on it, you know?”

“Yeah.” Severa says softly.

“So what’s this?” Kjelle asks, desperately trying to break the mood, picking up Severa’s heavy leatherbound journal from the side table. “This what you’ve been working so hard on?”

“It’s...uh, a journal, I guess. I don’t know.” And it’s the truth. She isn’t sure what it is, or what it’s supposed to be. “Libra suggested I try writing it. To...to help me make sense of it all. To make sense of everything that happened.”

“Is it helping?”

Severa throws up her hands in irritation. “I don’t know,” she snaps. “I don’t know, it’s just…I hate it.” She stares at the book with disdain. “It doesn’t help,” she decides. “It hurts to think about, and I…” she balls her hands, bunching fistfuls of fabric. “I was hoping it would be a record, you know. To tell her story.”

“And?”

“I don’t know how the damn thing ends,” Severa says at last, sitting up.

There’s muted snuffling and crying from the other room. Severa dutifully stands up and plucks the book from the table and tosses it on Kjelle’s lap, saying nothing. She stops in the hallway, resting against the doorframe.

“...Kjelle?”

Kjelle turns the leather cover and looks up. “Yeah?”

“Do you think she was a good person?”

“I…” Kjelle hesitates. “I don’t know.”

“I’ve been asking myself that question a lot.” Severa stares at the back of the couch, not lifting her eyes to meet Kjelle’s.

“Have you found an answer?”

“I was hoping it’d be in that,” Severa gestures towards the book in Kjelle’s hands.

Kjelle gives a wry half-smile and waves her off. “Go on, take care of your kid.”

Severa leaves to the sound of faint footsteps, of bare feet against wood, and then the crying softens. Kjelle smiles and presses her lips to the rim of her mug. The tea is Severa’s specialty - sickeningly sweet, brewed far too long. It’s got a nostalgic taste to it, though, like eating a home-cooked meal by a mother just no damn good at it. Kjelle sets her mug aside and turns the pages of Severa’s book.

The pages are crisp, pale, lined with small, neat handwriting. Severa was always a tidy writer, when she forced herself to. Her penmanship was impeccable, her lettering skillful. Kjelle was jealous - she found herself snapping quill pens from gripping them too hard half the time. But words had flowed from Severa’s pen like water from a spring, years of pain and misery and sadness and joy and love and fear and everything in between, spilling out in tidy lines and numbered pages and delicate ribbons of ink.

Kjelle turns the pages slowly.

 

_I met Lucina when I was five._


	2. Chapter 2

Severa met Lucina when she was five. She had come to the castle with her mother, trailing behind her with wandering feet puttering through the mud, her fingers clutched in a little fist in the skirts of her mother’s Falcon Knight uniform She was a slender little thing, shy and quiet, her long red locks already turning the bright red of her mother’s. 

Cynthia was there, too, riding on Sumia’s shoulders, proud and excited, the antithesis to Severa’s quiet irritation. Severa had wanted to stay in town, to watch the birds in the marketplace and sit by the fountain. She didn’t care about princesses, princes, heroes, kings, or Exalts. She liked quiet and peace, and as Cynthia lifted her proud little fists into the air, wobbling her steed and making Sumia lift her arms up with nervousness, Severa held nothing but contempt for the Exalt and the castle. 

It was so big, so quiet, so empty. Servants and guards walked past, speaking in hushed tones and nervous voices. There was a pallor over the castle, somber stillness like a blanket over something no one quite acknowledged, something deep and troubling. 

Severa slipped her hand from her mother’s skirt and stuck her thumb in her mouth.

“Don’t suck your thumb, dear,” Cordelia chided her softly, pulling her hand back and brushing Severa’s bangs from her eyes. “You need to be on your best behavior when we meet the Exalt.”

Severa sneered. “Cynthia’s acting d-dumb.”

“Don’t call your sister dumb,” Cordelia sighed. kneeling in front of Severa. She was a pretty woman, tall and elegant with copper eyes that sparkled set into high cheekbones dusted with freckles. She brushed Severa’s shoulders and adjusted her little tunic, fixing the belt and neatening the hems of her sleeves. 

Cordelia pursed her lips. 

Severa knew what was coming next. She anticipated it the whole journey, and now, standing in front of the broad doors to the throne room, she finally got it.

“You need to be polite. Lord Chrom and his wife and powerful people, and you can’t…” Cordelia hesitated, and in that moment Severa scowled. She knew she was a problem child. She hadn’t been in school two months before her mother had to meet with the teacher to discuss her behavior. “You can’t...be rude,” Cordelia said at last, settling on the words. Her voice softened. “Perhaps it would be best if you didn’t speak at all.” 

Severa nodded. She didn’t want to speak in front of the stupid king anyway. She’d mess up her words and he’d probably make fun of her, like everyone else does. 

“I love you very much,” Cordelia said, pulling Severa into an embrace. “It won’t take long, I promise.” She kisses Severa’s forehead and stands, offering her hand like she’s helping her from a carriage. “Milady,” she said sweetly. “The Exalt awaits.” 

Sumia was already before the throne, bowing deeply, Cynthia doing her best imitation of her mother at her side. Cordelia arrived last, her shadow behind her. Severa bowed, too, a stoic look on her face.

The Exalt looked tired. He seemed haggard and worn, his hair unkempt and his chin unshaven, and he leaned heavily on his elbow. 

Cordelia stood. “Your grace.”

“Please, Sumia, Cordelia, there’s no need for all the formalities.” Beside Lord Chrom sat the Queen, with her stark-white hair and dark skin, mirthful eyes and lin-lipped smile. She was lounging in her chair almost casually, her Grandmaster robes draped like purple velvet in folds around her. “Always a pleasure to see you two.” She leaned forward. “Oh my gosh, look how they’ve grown!” She clapped and beckoned the family closer. “How old are they now?”

“Four and five,” Sumia bowed. Cynthia was beaming proudly, still hanging off her mother’s arm. 

“Four years old,” Robin said again. “All grown up, are you?”

Cynthia smiled and nodded. “I’m gonna be a knight like my moms!” 

“I’m sure you will be,” Robin turned her attention to the other child. “And you?”

Severa stepped forward and bowed her head slightly. “I’m gonna be a n-nuh-knight,” Severa fumbled. She turned her gaze upwards, angry and defiant. 

Robin laughed. “They’ve certainly got their mothers’ spirit.” She adjusted in her seat and brushed her long white hair over her shoulder. “Will you be sharing quarters in the castle, then?” 

“If it pleases milords,” Cordelia said curtly. “Er, that is, if you have the space.”

Robin’s face turned contemplative and her brow lowered. “Yes, I think that can be arranged. There’s been more space in the castle of late.”

“We heard,” Sumia lifted her eyes. “Is everyone alright?”

“Yes, we’re all fine,” Robin said, shaking her head. “But none of that unpleasant talk, not so soon. Come, you must be hungry, and what host would I be to not provide for our newest students?”

Severa assumed that meant her and Cynthia. Robin walked down the steps from the throne slowly, and elegantly, with all the grace of a real queen. One might even forget her baseborn nature - though the anti-Plegian sentiments that ran rife through Ylisstol certainly did not. 

Severa wasn’t watching the queen, though. The king stared like he was seeing through them, gazing distantly past his wife jaunting down the stairs. He must have been very tired, Severa decided. She had heard so much about the war, distant battles and shifting borders, and the assassination of the king’s sister had taken everyone by surprise. Severa stared at him, and he stared back. 

“Come along, Severa,” Cordelia chided softly, taking her hand. 

Severa looked back over her shoulders at the weary king and those distant eyes, and something turned in her heart. She didn’t feel very at home in this castle, so big and empty and strange, and the man she had heard so much kindness about was nothing but a shell staring out into the emptiness of the throne room. 

Cynthia chattered happily to her mothers as they walked down the hall behind the queen, and Severa couldn’t stop herself from looking back at the doors to the throne room, almost as if she expected them to burst open any moment, for Risen to break through with their angry spears and rusted armor and angry, red eyes. 

Perhaps if she hadn’t had her eyes on the throne room, she wouldn’t have walked face-first into the king’s daughter.


	3. Chapter 3

She was beautiful.

Severa had never met an angel before, and she doubted they existed, but for a moment those doubts were put to rest. She gazed at the prince, resplendent in her glory, from the flat of her back on the cold tile. And Lucina gazes down at her with soft eyes, pale sapphires set against warm, tan skin. Her hair was dark and shimmered blue in the light like the deep waves of the ocean before a storm, and even at a young age her features bore the angular handsomeness of her father. Severa stared at her.

“Lucina!” chided the queen. “What did I say about running in the halls?”

“Not to do it,” Lucina bows her head shamefully, tucking into a slight bow. “I’m sorry, mother.”

“Apologize to Severa,” Robin instructed. 

Lucina furrowed her brow and offered a hand to Severa. “I’m sorry, Severa.”

“It’s okay,” Severa accepted her hand gratefully. It was soft and warm, and her fingers felt firm and strong. Remembering her manners, she curtsied.

Lucina laughed. “Why did you do that?”

“You’re the prince,” Severa replied bashfully. 

Robin stepped between them, gazing down at her daughter. “Did you finish your studies, Lucina?”

Lucina nodded, unwilling to lift her eyes to face her mother.

“Are you lying to me, Lucina?”

“No, mother,” Lucina said dutifully. 

Robin touched her shoulder and Lucina flinched, her facade breaking. “Lucina.”

“No,” she admitted, wincing.

Robin pursed her lips. “Go wait in your father’s study.”

Lucina shook her head. 

“Lucina.”

“I don’t want to!” Lucina protested, shaking her head and pushing herself out of her mother’s grip. “I don’t want to!” 

“Lucina!” Robin snapped, and Severa bowed her head and ducked behind her mother’s skirts. It was like when another student was getting punished for misbehavior in class, watching the little prince be disciplined. Something about how she moved struck Severa as strange, almost frightening. 

“Let go of me!” Lucina screamed, snapping her teeth at her mother’s grasping hand. 

Severa and Cynthia made uncomfortable eye contact. Cordelia set her palm on the top of Cynthia’s head. “How about we go to the dining hall, and you can catch up?” she asked Robin. 

“I think that sounds good,” Sumia agreed happily, looping her arm around Severa and pulling her away from the wayward prince making a scene. They walked down the hall to the sound of Lucina’s high-pitched cries and Robin’s harsh, hushed voice desperately trying to quiet her down, the voices bouncing off the empty halls even as Cordelia led her family around the corner and towards the dining hall. 

“Goodness, the prince seems like a handful,” Sumia laughed, resting her hands on Severa’s shoulders. 

Cordelia laughed nervously. “Well, I’m sure having some new friends around might help, don’t you?” 

“Yeah!” Cynthia practically leapt into the air. “I wanna be the prince’s friend!” 

“I don’t,” Severa scowled. “She seems like a b-buh-brat,” she concluded, watching the prince’s tantrum. She decided something else, too, on the walk to the dining hall. She decided that she was right to hate Ylisstol. Something just felt off to her, something disquieting and strange. There were knights in the courtyard, training, and maids and serving staff scuttling around the wide hallways, and guards patrolling the walls, but it didn’t stop feeling so alien and strange. Severa missed her bedroom, she missed her little space in the attic she shared with Cynthia, her bed and her toys. She was tired. 

Cordelia must have sensed her weariness because she scooped Severa up off her feet and cradled her in her arms.

Severa nestled her forehead against her mother’s arms, closing her eyes. Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe it would be okay, since they were all there together, all four of them. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come say hi at lucisevofficial.tumblr.com


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